


It Took A Long Time To Find You, But I Finally Found You

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is, she overwhelms him in the most real, most excruciating way and he had no idea. He had no idea but now he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Took A Long Time To Find You, But I Finally Found You

Don Draper is a man with baggage. Lots of it. But he isn’t the type to carry it along everywhere. He’s gotten rid of that habit. Now he just lets it roll off his shoulders and fall away as he moves along. There’s no use in crying over spilt milk anyway. What for?

All the people in his life--the ones that shaped him and the ones that left him, the ones that he thought he wanted around and then learned better, they don‘t matter--the people he created--the three, perfect, amazing people he created, those are the ones that are worth it. When his job doesn’t quite satisfy that thirst he is sure he was born with, when it won’t fill that hole in his stomach, he looks at his kids and he feels like he’s accomplished at least one thing he has the right to brag about. Even when he’s not the best parent, he’s confident he has his moments.

He’d always hoped he’d find that in a woman sometime before he grew old. That person wasn’t Betty. Nor any of the other women, not even Megan. For a long time, he couldn’t’ figure it out. He couldn’t’ figure out why the novelty and the joy he always seemed to feel in the beginning faded. It evaporated just as easily at it had appeared. How could something that made him feel so overjoyed and dizzy with love and desire just one day be gone?

But now he knows. He knows it was all too safe and too simple to ever be real.

It isn’t like that with Joan.

He didn’t know it in the beginning, when he first laid eyes on that alabaster skin and stern blue stare, when he first felt the wrath of that unapologetic strictness that burns as bright as her hair, what it was. Maybe it was her rumored reputation--he claims it scared him, and maybe it did, but for completely different reasons.

The truth is, she overwhelms him in the most real, most excruciating way and he had no idea. He had no idea but now he does.

Too many nights alone with her, with nothing but the space of two inches and a bottle of whatever she’s in the mood for between them has made him realize it. He doesn’t touch her, though he’d like to, very much. He stares at her mouth when they’re both drunk enough to ignore it, and he breathes in her perfume. It’s something bold, yet soft and it makes him ache, way deep down in his chest.

It’s a realization he’s felt coming for months now, but tonight it’s an especially brutal sensation and at times, he can’t breathe. For two reasons, because the feeling of it all has shocked him, and because he really, truly wishes he hadn’t realized this. He’s no good and she’s too good, and she’s different than anyone else he has ever known.

The whole thing is an entirely different thing altogether. And he doesn’t think he can survive losing her if he dares to touch her. Not that she would let him, of course--but something tells him she would.

There’s something about the way she tilts her head, lost in a thought she won’t share with him, that exposes the expanse of her neck and all his vulnerability just as well.

A chuckle escapes him and he shakes his head, searching his half empty glass for the strength to put them both in separate cabs and send her away from him, to the safety of her own apartment where he won’t be.

“What’s funny?” She asks, her voice reeling him in with its softness.

“I’ve just realized something.”

She props her chin on her hand, her elbow steady on the dark, polished wood of the bar as she looks at him wearily, “What’s that?”

“I think I might be in love with you and I didn’t even know it,” he says it with a particularly drunken flourish that’s just enough to pass off as a foolish lie before he gulps down the remains of his drink, adding a dry chuckle afterwards.

She laughs, turns her head away dismissively and sits up with a deep sigh as she looks around the crowded bar. It’s nice and quiet now. It’s close to last call and the dance floor has cleared out by now. Her feet are aching and her hair has fallen away from her bun a little from earlier. She smiles at the memory and briefly touches her glass to her chest, enjoying the way it cools her still heated skin. “Thank you for dancing with me tonight. It was nice.”

He’s looking at her again. He’s been doing it all night and it’s taken everything she has to not look back. She isn’t blind to it, the pull between them that’s done nothing but simmer throughout the years, low enough to not notice its presence but sharp enough to know it‘s something... It’s never been anything to worry about. Until now.

Oh and she hates herself for being weak enough to feel safe beside him. But there isn’t much she can do about it now. It’s boiled over and all she can do is sidestep away from any possible damage. Only, it’s so difficult when he’s always so close by.

“Pleasure’s all mine, I promise.”

Last call is announced and they both look about the room sorrowfully, silently wishing the night could go on longer so they’d have an excuse to sit in the dark together.

“What a week--” Don says and groans as he cranes his neck.

Nodding, she sits up straight and gives a little laugh. “Yes. My mother’s taken the baby away for the weekend, so I am looking forward to some peace and quiet for once.”

His eyes dart up, focusing on the array of bottles stacked up behind the bar. “You’re all alone this weekend?”

“Mmhmm…” She says, drawing out the sound in a little hum of pleasure that Don feels expand all along his chest.

She doesn’t know what brings it on, what stupid, vicious little devil makes her say it, but she does anyway, “You know, I’m not very sleepy tonight.”

Looking over at her, Don’s brow furrows and he replies, “Me either.”

For the first time in a very long time, they share a cab. It’s quiet and tense and when their hands graze on the seat between them, they both visibly shiver.

Joan knows a bad idea when she sees one and this one is so obviously a terrible idea, she’s considering telling him she’s suddenly dead on her feet and would very much rather sleep. But when she looks at over at him and his smiling as she prepares to send him on his way, she can’t help but mirror the expression. “I’ve got a bottle of wine I’ve been saving up,” she says instead.

“Lucky for you, I’m a professional drinker.”

She can’t for the life of her find any suitable glasses. Her mother must have moved them. They end up drinking from mismatched orange juice glasses with sunflowers on them but she finds she doesn’t much care.

Don doesn’t seem to mind much either.

As he pours them both a second glass, the record they’ve been listening to falls away from the needle, signaling its end. How long have they been talking?

She’s got her bare feet tucked underneath her and he’s seated so comfortably with his tie undone and his hair out of place, falling nearly over his eye. He’s too big for her furniture--so out of place it’s ridiculous, but he looks just right.

The heady, thick buzz of the wine has warmed her inside out, making her feel fuzzy and light. And as she reaches out to brush Don’s hair back into place, she thinks nothing of saying, “You need a haircut.”

Unknowingly, her hand remains, touching him softly, combing her fingers thoroughly through his hair. She’s so lost in the action she doesn’t notice he’s closed his eyes and is breathing deeper and deeper with every passing moment.

She lulls him into submission. There’s something in the way she touches him that both relaxes and alarms him all at once. He’s sure he can feel her touch in his blood, as if she now controls him. Finally, willing his limbs to move, he lifts a hand to still hers and grasps it before she can pull away.

He isn’t prepared for what happens when he opens his eyes. There it is. All the fear and admiration, all the intensity and perhaps love--it’s all mirrored back in her eyes and he nearly loses his nerve.

“I think I have some cheese in the kitchen,” she says suddenly, her hand falling away from his grasp, slipping away until she’s standing and out of the room within seconds.

Her heart is racing and by the time she reaches the kitchen, she’s already forgotten what she’s looking for, so she braces herself over the sink and closes her eyes, breathing slowly in and out and willing her nerves to get a hold on reality. This a bad, bad, horrible idea. She will go back out there and tell him he needs to go home to his wife. To his annoyingly perfect wife he’s supposed to be so crazy about.

Decided and a little angry, she stomps her foot once and quickly turns around, fully intending on kicking the man with the perfect hair right out of her apartment. Except he’s right there in front of her and looking at her like there’s no way he’s leaving.

She gasps, “Don, you scared me…”

“I have taken care of all the women in my life,” he says suddenly, searching her face, studying her features, looking at her like he’s never seen her before and now it’s she that can’t breathe, or speak for that matter, which is good because he apparently has more to say, “And I want to take care of you. But you know what the difference is between you and them?”

She breathes in sharply as he steps close enough for his chest to graze hers. “What?”

“You don’t need it.” He sounds confused and seems confused, as if he’s trying to solve the puzzle that is Joan Harris but can’t. He’s so close to her, he can physically feel her breathing and yet--she’s not pushing him away.

“Maybe I do,” she breathes.

His eyes look up to meet hers now, making sure she‘s looking before affirming, “No. You don’t. Do you know how amazing you are?”

Her head shakes involuntarily, slowly and just barely, but he notices. Of course she’s always told herself she’s worthy of much more than what scraps life has handed her, but it is only in very private moments when she wonders if she’s just fooling herself.

“If no one’s ever let you know, then they have no business ever being in your life.”

“Don--you should go.”

“I should,” he says, but doesn’t budge.

“I have a baby and you’re married-I’m married, for Christ’s sake. This is what you do, you have girls you marry and girls you sleep with and--”

“You’re right. And I should go,” he tells her, “I have no business being here. I think I’ve wanted you the moment I shook your hand all those years ago. But the truth is, I respect you more--”

Whatever inebriated speech he had started dies on her lips when she grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him down against him.

They couldn’t stop now if they wanted to.

He smoothes both hands over her hips, up to cradle her waist and then wraps his arms around her, to grab that much admired bottom and lift her onto the counter.

His tie makes a zipping sound as she pulls it roughly off and then continues to make do with his shirt buttons, undoing them swiftly until she has to stop and pull the tails of the white dress shirt out of his pants. She braces his sides as her mouth trails wetly along the side of his neck, while he slips both hands up her dress and palms both thighs greedily, tugging at the garters as he goes and dying just a little when she spreads herself wider for him, moaning softly against his ear.

He touches her so gently, she stops moving, stops breathing, until his voice, ragged somewhere close to her ear asks, “Does that feel good?”

She breathes now. Quickly and sharply, as quickly as she knows her chest has flushed now.

“Joan--” he tries again, tasting the crook of her neck in a shameless way.

Her lips part and leaning against his mouth as her hips undulate against the slow cadence of his hand, she says in a forced whisper, “Yes, god yes…”

He continues this way for a while, touching her as she sighs. He kisses her mouth, kisses her neck, her chest and watches her when he can tear himself away from feasting on her to see her shiver and then gasp as she climaxes, throwing her head back for a moment before meeting him with a smile. She bites down on her lip, her body still quivering gently, his thumb making lazy circles around her clit.

He smiles back and wonders how it was possible he lived all this time without seeing this.

Without giving her a chance to take anything back, his hoists her up, glad when she wraps his legs around him. Her kitchen is small and he runs into the fridge on their way to the bedroom. She’s still laughing when they get to her bed and when he’s looming over her and she still hasn’t stopped, he tickles her ribs and she laughs louder, ordering to stop or else.

It shifts somehow without them knowing and the transition is so easy, it’s almost ridiculous. Though they do have to credit the disregard for undressing completely for the immediacy. Her dress is still on and his pants are not quite gone, but the way he feels inside her is enough to not care.

He isn’t very gentle now. She doesn’t want him to be. He grips the comforter tightly beside her head as he fucks her, until she’s gasping and his grunting, kissing and palming her breasts like he won’t ever stop.

She lifts her head and grabs the back of his head, her hand fisting into his hair as he kisses her with as much purpose as he’s applying to drilling her into the mattress and then she’s coming again, with him close behind.

She’s gasping beneath him, his forehead pressed to hers and still inside her. They’re sweating and drunk and her dress and his shirt are wrinkled. It’s a big, big mess, one big, huge mistake they can’t take back now. But he kisses her shoulder, and she kisses his neck and suddenly there’s hope for something better for them both.

She opens her eyes in the her darkened bedroom--she can feel his chest heaving against her breasts, the sweat of his brow drying off against her cheek as he nuzzles her. She shift’s a little underneath him and he grunts softly as he slips out of her, smiling when she holds him still before he can move.

She licks her lips and heaves a sigh. The way he kisses her neck so carefully makes her feel like she’ll melt into the mattress. “Don, you can’t come back here unless you’re ready to be a man about it.”

“I thought that’s what I just did,” He jokes with his face still buried in her neck.

“I’m serious.”

He pauses for a long time, kissing her shoulder again because he can’t seem to stop. “I know.”

“People don’t change, Don,” Joan tells him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, “But they have to grow up sometime.”

 


End file.
